


grin

by ObscureReference



Series: too many teeth [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Gen, horror themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 00:48:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6401116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObscureReference/pseuds/ObscureReference
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Holster smiled, he had too many teeth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	grin

**Author's Note:**

> I posted a much shorter version of this on my tumblr the other day as a pretty self-indulgent fic that I was pretty embarrassed to let anyone look at, but several people told me they liked it, so I decided to post it here. I usually don't like posting particularly short stuff here on ao3, however, so if you look at the two versions and compare them, you'll notice some additions. I somewhat feel like the shorter version reads better, but that may just because I wrote it while in a spookier mood. It may just be my own preference.
> 
> Enjoy!

When Holster smiled, he had too many teeth.

Holster had a big mouth, and Ransom wasn’t just saying that to chirp, even if his mouth  _was_  obnoxiously large whenever he opened it to chew or rant or brag about how he could probably fit a whole orange in there. One of the small ones, probably, he said. Probably. They hadn’t tried yet. Ransom didn’t want to be the one who called the hospital when Holster inevitably choked.

When Holster smiled, he had too many teeth.

Ransom didn’t notice it when they were eating or slapping each other on the back on the ice. He didn’t notice it when they were knocking their shoulders together, sitting on the roof and pointing at the LAX house in disgust. He didn’t notice it when Holster sighed and pressed him back into bed, chiding him for trying to stay up so long, even if it was to study.

Ransom only noticed it when he smiled.

Holster had oversized, dorky teeth Ransom had teased him about their frog year. Teeth you  _noticed_. They looked almost too large for his face even though his mouth had grown equally wide in order to compensate, and Holster once rolled his eyes while he compared himself to Hermione Granger. 

“You know, before she got hexed and reversed them to a normal size,” Holster told him, which Ransom only had to assume was true. He still hadn’t gotten around to Harry Potter just yet. It didn’t seem to bother Holster, at least.

But then Holster had grinned at him afterward, wide and cocky, and Ransom had paused.

Something slithered behind Holster’s features when he smiled. His lips pulled back too much, and the bones in his jaw seemed a little more crooked as he did. When Holster smiled, Ransom could count how many teeth he had, and they seemed to go on for miles and miles. When Holster smiled, he looked—

Well.

Ransom wanted to say he looked “darker,” because it fit, but “dark” was reserved for rugged heroes and their secret double lives. “Dark” was a word reserved for mysterious love interests in bad romance novels. It was usually accompanied by words like “tall” and “handsome.” Holster was at least one of those, and it certainly wasn’t “dark” or “handsome,” and anyway—

Anyway, he had too many teeth, Ransom thought.

“Are you freaking out?” Holster asked, his voice slicing through the darkness like a knife.

Ransom forced himself to relax. He stared at the underside of his own mattress, eyes tracing the way the exposed springs spiraled against the fabric. Holster rolled onto his back as much as he could manage considering the little room left on the bunk. His shoulder pressed against Ransom’s firmly.

“This is the second time in two days, man,” Holster said. He was looking at Ransom, even though Ransom wasn’t looking back. “Are the ghosts getting to you more than usual or something?”

“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” Ransom responded reflexively, deliberately not thinking about the weird lines he’d found drawn in steam on the the bathroom mirror this morning. Nobody else had been in the Haus during his late shower, and instead of the usual comment about his butt, there had been a picture instead. Some kind of monster, curled up in the steamed glass, framed between drops of water trailing down the sides. It looked like something a child would draw, all long, broad limbs and endless rows of teeth. Ransom had swiped it away with his hand.

There hadn’t been any pop music tonight or any invisible fingers pinching his butt.  _Yet_. He had crawled in with Holster as a preventative measure.

Holster snorted, rolling onto his other side. His back curved against the wall, and he looked at Ransom with half-lidded eyes.

“You say that,” he said. “But you’re still here because ghosts tried to communicate with you.”

Ransom grimaced. “One, ghosts aren’t real, so nothing is communicating with anybody. Two, pinching my ass isn’t communication.”

Holster wiggled his eyebrows. Their one dirty window cast a pale, uneven light on his face.

“Pinching ass  _is_ communication,” he said. “They want the booty.”

“I do have a fine ass,” Ransom conceded. The  _but ghosts are still fake_ hung in the air.

“Maybe they’re getting your attention with touching your butt and stuff but  _really_ they’re trying to tell you something else. Possibly through ass-pinching Morse code.”

Holster was in a playful mood tonight, but Ransom didn’t want to humor him anymore. He thought about the drawing in the bathroom mirror and looked away. “Knock it off.”

He heard Holster sigh.

“Come on,” Holster said, fingers grazing Ransom’s shoulder. “You know I don’t mean it.”

When Ransom didn’t say anything, he sighed again and added, “Ghosts aren’t real, okay?”

Ransom turned his head back to look at Holster, triumphant.

“ _Thank_  you.”

Holster rolled his eyes, but Ransom could tell he wasn’t  _that_ mad. Just a little miffed. He should have learned by now that Ransom didn’t mess around with the supernatural, as unfounded in reality as it was.

He squeezed Ransom’s shoulder. Holster’s fingers felt colder than usual on his skin, but the look he gave Ransom was warm.  

“Never change, dude,” he said.  

Ransom refused to shiver. He looked back at Holster pointedly, eyes unwavering. Sometimes shadows played tricks in the dark, but Ransom refused to pay them any attention.

“I don’t plan on it,” he said. “Besides, how could I? I know I’ll always have my best bro around to keep me in line.”

When Holster smiled, he had too many teeth.

Ransom rolled over and pretended to sleep.

 

 

 

Heat rose to the top of any container it was left in, so the attic was unusually warm when Ransom woke up. It was even warmer with Holster plastered against his back, the d-man's nose buried in Ransom's hair. Ransom could feel hot breath on his neck. The air was humid, but he shivered anyway. Goosebumps rose on his arm.

When Ransom shifted, Holster's arm tightened around his side. He stopped moving.

"Holtzy," he mumbled, voice thick with sleep. Ransom blinked twice. The outline of the door still remained indistinct and fuzzy. "Where's my phone?"

Holster grunted something that might have been, "Shut up." Ransom shifted again, pressing his foot into Holster's ankle.

"Let me up, man," he said, only marginally more awake.

Holster sighed. He lifted the arm that was thrown across Ransom's torso and reached somewhere above their heads. He came back with a phone.

"It's eight," Holster said. He sounded groggy.

Ransom laid his head back down on the pillow. He didn't have to get up just yet.

With that problem solved, Holster placed the phone somewhere above them and collapsed back down, sighing heavily. Ransom's skin felt moist with sweat from the heat of the attic. Holster's skin was cool and dry.

They laid there in silence for a few heartbeats. Ransom kept his eyes closed, but he was only dozing. He doubted he'd fall asleep again.

After almost a full minute of stillness, Holster moved. He rested his cheek on Ransom's shoulder. Ransom thought he could feel every individual tooth under his skin. They felt too long.

"Hey," Holster whispered. His arm was still curled around Ransom's side. He squeezed Ransom's wrist lightly.

Ransom didn't open his eyes.

"Hey," he whispered back.

He was still basically asleep. He was still tired, and his mind was imagining things. It was only eight. Fingers always felt like claws when you were asleep.

Holster turned his head and the curve of his nose pressed against Ransom's shoulder.

"Hey," he said again, voice low. "You should... make some pancakes."

Ransom didn't open his eyes. He was asleep.

"Bro, I'm sleeping," he said.

A puff of hot air hit Ransom's cheek. "No, you're not."

He wanted to be sleeping.

"Ask Bitty to make you pancakes."

"Bitty doesn't get up until noon on Mondays," Holster said. Ransom could feel every muscle in his jaw when he spoke, the corner of Holster's lips brushing his shoulder as they moved.

Ransom opened his eyes. The door was still a blurry mess. He groaned.

"I'm only doing this because I have to shower anyway," he said. Despite the firm tone of his voice and the uncomfortable heat trapped under the blankets, he didn't get up.

He could picture the quirk of Holster's eyebrows even though he didn't turn to look. "Pancake time?"

"Pancake time," Ransom said. He felt the way Holster's chest expanded against his back with a pleasant sigh.

Holster smiled into his skin. Ransom shivered in the heat.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to leave a comment below or hmu at my tumblr (http://someobscurereference.tumblr.com/) for whatever reason. I love talking to people.


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